Ten Weeks Later
by Sadistic-but-sweet
Summary: "There's oil in the Gulf." Those six words were going to be the bane of Arthur's existence. - Inspired by the BP oil spill, showing Arthur's change in mind about the situation over ten weeks. Us/uk
1. In Which Alfred and Arthur Make Demands

A/N: Whew, so, welcome to my first Hetalia fanfiction, and man was this a bumpy ride. I started this two weeks ago, and had planned on having it done in time for Alfred's birthday. Needless to say, I failed, but I'm still proud of this one-shot turned three-shot 13,000ish word monster I managed to crank out in a little over a week. A lot of late nights were involved in this, so I hope you guys enjoy it. I'll post up the other parts as I finish editing them. Happily I have everything written, so it shouldn't be a long wait! :)

This was inspired by the BP oil spill. I've gotten all of my information from various internet sources, most of which are probably out of date by now. Which is okay, since most of this was supposed to reflect a change over time from April 24th to July 4th.

Warnings: Un-betaed except by myself, use of human names, use of fan names (In Jansen's case, as the Netherlands didn't have a formal English name), and a bit of French abuse. Nothing major, and I've provided rough translations below. (Understand that I am not fluent in French and that these came from online translators.)  
Oh! and the obvious shonen-ai warning, but it's faint. I fail at writing romance XD This is mainly humor/hurt/comfort.

Disclaimer: Hetalia: Axis Powers and all the characters involved to not belong to me. If they did, we would see a lot more of the Netherlands, who from only one comic strip I have come to love.

* * *

On April 23nd, 2010, Arthur Kirkland wasn't concerned.

"There's oil in the Gulf."

Those six words (contractions don't make two words into one, damn it!) were going to be the bane of Arthur's existence. It was a phrase that had been uttered in his ear far too many times over the course of an hour by nervous businessmen, concerned politicians, and angry Americans. Angry Americans such as the one standing in front of him, arms crossed over his bomber jacket and glasses falling off the tip of his nose.

Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes at such an obvious statement. Instead he slowly put down the papers his tired eyes were reading over, looking at the blond who was standing in front of his desk. Arthur disliked the way Alfred was looking down at him, blue eyes flashing of glasses still precariously perched on the tip of his nose. Arthur had a hard time thinking of a time his past colony looked so fierce. There were few things that got Alfred Jones truly angry, but endangering his precious country was one of them. The United States had its fair share of oil spills in the past. Even ridiculous, joking Alfred could appreciate the damage they could cause.

Exxon Valdez, anyone? Alfred's far Northern state is still recovering from that incident.

Needless to say, Arthur's reaction to this whole ordeal was the exact opposite of Alfred's, treating the situation with almost boredom. It may have been this attitude that only helped fan the flames.

"It's a tiny spill in such a relatively huge sea," Arthur commented, lacing his fingers and resting his chin a top them, his elbows on his desk. When that comment didn't make Alfred relent, Arthur sighed in annoyance. "It was an oil pipeline, you git. There's going to be some oil spilling from the explosion and subsequent collapse of _Deepwater Horizon_. I have sent out a ROV - a Remotely Operated underwater Vehicle, to you - to find out if any oil is actually leaking. Now will you go back to your own nation and let me work in peace?" Arthur picked up his pen, his tone one of finality. This conversation was over in Arthur Kirkland's book.

On the other hand, Alfred considered it to be the farthest thing from over. Alfred tapped his foot, annoyed. His lips were pressed together tightly as he thought. "Arthur," he began after a moment, his thick country twang making Arthur twitch in annoyance, "you don't even know if there is a leak? Can't you send one of those underwater robot things -"

"ROVs."

"Yeah, those. Can't you send one of those to go plug up the well, just in case?" Alfred asked with added fancy hand movements, supposedly trying to mime putting a giant cork in the well.

Arthur let out a long sigh, setting his pen down and rubbing his temples. _For someone who is so passionate about protecting his country, _Arthur thought bitterly, _he pays such little attention to details involved with protecting said country._ In a case such as this, it was true Alfred saw only the big picture - There's oil in the Gulf of Mexico, and Arthur is sitting here doing paperwork as if it is nothing. Obviously he hadn't gotten the memo that Arthur had deployed two previous ROVs to cap the well, both of which failed. Arthur proceeded to inform Alfred of this fact.

The American pulled over a chair, its feet scraping against in the floor in protest, and flopped down in it. "Well obviously the robots didn't work, so why not try something else? And hey, what about the oil already in the water? This could be a big problem!" Alfred asked stubbornly, still not satisfied even knowing that Arthur had at least tried to cap the pipe first. He pushed his glasses up in thought before sudden excitement and optimism came over his features. "Hey, what if -"

Arthur tuned him out at this point, picking up his pen to return to work. Alfred's worrying was bothersome, but his idiotic ideas to fix what was more than likely nothing would take the word _annoying_ to a whole new level. What kind of nonsense was he spouting? Arthur was sending out the ROVs to check for a leak. If there was a leak, then it was more than likely not spewing oil at a massive rate, otherwise they would have noticed by now. Due to how long the ROVs were taking getting back with a report, Arthur felt assured that the leak, if there was one, was not of immediate importance.

"Can you please just shut the hell up? We have it under control," Arthur snapped finally, stopping Alfred in the middle of some asinine idea about borrowing giant robots from Kiku.

Alfred scowled, obviously not happy with that answer. "If we had it under control there wouldn't be oil in my god damn Gulf!" Alfred nearly yelled. Yes, he was certainly not happy one bit.

"Technically it's Mexico's Gulf if the name is anything to go by," Arthur replied snarkily, mentally patting himself on the back as Alfred fumed. Arthur one, Alfred zero.

"Hey! Just because it's named after her doesn't mean a damn-"

Both men jumped a little as the phone sitting on Arthur's desk began ringing loudly. _Oh thank God_, Arthur thought, grateful that Alfred finally shut up. Arthur picked up the phone and pressed it to his ear, listening for a moment. He held up a finger to stop Alfred from asking who it was, clearing his throat. "Yes, this is Arthur. Mmm?"

Alfred leaned forward, as if he could catch more of the conversation that way. Arthur swatted him away, annoyed at the invasion of his personal bubble. Alfred had to settle to listening to Arthur's half of the conversation, much to the younger nation's dismay. His natural curiosity was driving him up a wall.

"What's the consensus? Mmm hmm. What about the damage? Right right, to be expected." Arthur leaned back in his chair, glancing at the fidgeting Alfred out of the corner of his eyes. "Is that all?"

Alfred didn't like waiting. He fixed Arthur with a pointed stare that was clearing asking what was going on. Arthur waved him off again before ignoring him completely. Fed up, Alfred pushed himself out of the chair to pace the room, arms tucked behind his back. He knew Arthur was doing this just to annoy him, to make him fidget. It was working.

While he wasn't looking, Arthur rolled his eyes at Alfred's antics. "Uh huh. Fine, begin clean up immediately, and file an official press report on it. I expect regular updates on the situation, and call immediately if anything changes. Farewell." Arthur returned the phone to its cradle with a resounding click. Before he could blink Alfred was leaning on his desk, low enough to meet the shorter nation eye-to-eye.

"Well?"

Arthur huffed, disliking how close Alfred was. Did he have no sense of personal space? Arthur solved this problem by leaning back in his chair. "The ROVs checked thoroughly and found no sign of oil leakage from the well or any of the broken pipes. Now will you please quit worrying about it?" Arthur snapped. Alfred let out a breath he never knew he was holding as Arthur continued on. "I've deployed some ships to take care of the oil spill, and have already made plans for compensation for the damage caused by the oil and the explosion. Are you satisfied now?"

Alfred grinned a little. "So there's no leaking?" Alfred asked once more, to make sure heard Arthur correctly.

"None, you twat. Like I said, I'm also sending out ships to handle clean-"

Alfred laughed and reached across the table, surprising Arthur by pulling him into a quick hug. He smacked the older nation on the back all friendly-like, nearly knocking the wind out of Arthur. As Alfred pulled away he laughed at Arthur's completely befuddled expression. "Forget the ships. I'm the U.S. of freaking A. I can take care of simple clean up duty myself," he replied cheekily, waving Arthur's offer off. Knowing that there was no leak was a weight off of Alfred's shoulders.

It also seemed to make him rather stupid, in Arthur's eyes. In fact, Arthur found himself scowling at Alfred's cocky attitude. "My gods, can you bloody well make up your mind? First you're yelling at me to do something, then you brush me off when I offer to help! You're a bloody ingrate," Arthur snapped, slamming his pen down angrily and standing up. Tea. He needed a nice big cup of Earl Grey. Once more Alfred laughed as he watched Arthur storm towards the double doors that lead out of his office. Roughly Arthur pulled one of the doors open, holding it for Alfred.

"Hey, what kind of hero would I be if I depended on another country, especially for something I can handle myself?" Alfred commented, having the audacity to ruffle Arthur's hair as he walked by.

Arthur couldn't help but think that, by that logic, Alfred had just claimed he was too incompetent to handle a simple pipeline leak. Had Alfred not been completely freaked just a minute ago? It was an amusing thought, one he was looking forward to rubbing in Alfred's face. He never got the chance because Alfred, the Almighty "U.S. of freaking A.", went and added, "Don't worry about it, Old Man. Just pay me back for the minor damage done and we'll be even."

Between ruffling his hair and calling him "old man," Arthur's mood went from sour to worse. He immediately began spouting obscenities that would make a sailor blush. People down the halls stopped what they were doing to peer around the corner at the short blond screaming at the top of his lungs. All of that yelling basically amounted to telling Alfred to get out of his office. Alfred, damn him, was cheeky enough to laugh. With a promise to return once the Gulf was cleaned to discuss compensation, Alfred left. His absence was a minor relief. _Good riddance_, Arthur thought, storming down the hallway in the opposite direction as Alfred. A nice big cup of tea was calling his name. With Alfred gone he could get some tea and return to his work in peace, no more distractions. The crisis was averted, so to speak.

Arthur was blissfully unaware that the next morning, April 24th, he would be awoken by a rather panicked phone call at five in the morning -

"Kirkland, sir, it seems there were some miscalculations yesterday. We have detected a potentially serious leak..."

Arthur groaned. He was dreading telling Alfred.

* * *

On May 1st, one week later, the Netherlands pulled America aside after the world meeting was over.

It was a peculiar instance that did not go unnoticed by the other nations. While Jansen was not an antisocial nation, Alfred was also not one of his regular correspondences. A couple of the nations exchanged glances, shrugging it off. Others took to fervent whispering behind their hands about Jansen's sudden interest in the USA. One or two nations didn't even take notice, Feliciano in specific, whose mind was on pasta as usual. Regardless, despite this wonderful bit of gossip, all of the nations began slowly filing out of the meeting room in groups of twos and threes.

One nation didn't move. Arthur hovered by the table after the meeting was over, his curiosity piqued. What in the world did Jansen want with Alfred? Pretending to read over his papers from the meeting as the others filed out, Arthur ran that question over and over in his head. The Netherlands had little to no interest in America aside from trade. If Jansen was to discuss trade issues though, he would have simply approached Alfred after the meeting. Jansen was not known for being particularly coy. What would be so serious that he would drag Alfred aside?

Arthur bit his lip, deciding to indeed wait until Alfred came back to question him. Much to Arthur's dismay, another country lingered past his due as well. The room was completely empty except for the nations of England and -

"_Mon cher_, worried about _Amerique_?"

- France.

The lilting French made Arthur cringe. That accent was nearly incomprehensible! Tilting his head slightly so he could keep one eye on the door, Arthur spared a glance at the male who settled himself into a free seat beside him. Francis looked a pristine as usual, his blue uniform the epitome of perfection with not a single thread out of place. He flipped his golden locks out of his face, resting his elbows on the table and peering at Arthur with a teasing smile. Arthur snorted in annoyance. Didn't Francis have anything better to do? Actually, knowing the Frenchman far better than he wished, Arthur guessed he really didn't.

"Hmm?" Francis prompted when Arthur didn't reply. He was obviously not moving until Arthur answered his question, to Arthur's annoyance.

After a long moment of Francis staring at him, Arthur scowled and moved his chair away from the Frenchman. No wise person would trust Francis sitting so close to them. "None of your business, damn frog. Go bother someone else," Arthur snapped testily, turning away to watch the door again.

Francis chuckled. "Then it is _Amerique_ who is plaguing your mind, _oui_?" Francis asked, leaning back. He turned his blue-eyed gaze to the door, thoughtful. "I suppose I cannot blame you," Francis commented after a moment, sighing. "He has not appeared too well lately. He seems a little pale, _non_? Do you suppose the current situation is taking a toll on him?"

That comment took Arthur back. Green whipped around to meet blue, Arthur searching Francis's eyes for a sign of a joke. Francis looked serious, simply raising an eyebrow at Arthur's sudden jolt. Alfred hadn't been acting differently recently, had he? Arthur racked his brain, trying to figure out if Alfred seemed off. He was still downing a dozen of those horrible, greasy burgers a day. Alfred had no shortage of asinine ideas on everything from the Middle East to International relations to alternative energy, all of which were instantly shot down by some nation or another. Arthur had lost track of how many times Alfred had used the word "hero" in one hour, every single time in reference to himself.

In short, Alfred seemed perfectly fine.

"I've noticed nothing wrong," Arthur mumbled, his voice holding a little less strength. In the back of his mind he was suddenly questioning himself. Was Alfred worse off than he let on? He had accepted the Briton's offer to assist processing the oil flowing into the Gulf, but he avoided speaking with Arthur directly if he could. Arthur had assumed it was because Alfred was angry at him, but what if it was because he was feeling ill?

Francis saw Arthur's doubt in his face. Being the affectionate creature he was, France reached out to caress his cheek gently. It was this sign of affection which snapped Arthur out of his thoughts. Quickly he put on a mask of indifference, swatting Francis's hand away. Francis sighed, jerking his hand away. Typical. "_Angleterre_," Francis began as he stood. "Must you always be so aloof, pushing people away who try to help?"

Arthur glared up at Francis. "Help? _Help?_ All I have seen you do since walking into the room is throw around some horribly tasteless jokes about nearly every nation's sexuality, attempt to get everyone drunk by spiking the drinks, mock me about worrying for Alfred when it is perfectly justified, and to top it off you just tried to make a move on me, you git!"

Francis gasped dramatically at the accusations, causing Arthur to roll his eyes. "I did _not _just try to make a move on you! I patted your cheek!"

"That's one step before sexual harassment in your book!"

"I was comforting a country in need!"

"Oh come off it, making me sound like some pansy. You're always looking for excuses to come onto me."

"If you would stop gazing at me, _mon cher_! I -"

"Oh drop the dramatics! I am not staring at you ever! You're a narcissist, only ever thinking of himself! And quit calling me _mon cher_! We are NOT lovers!"

"But it suits you, _non_?"

"Oh will you -"

There was a loud cough. Both men stopped their quarreling instantly, heads whipping around to look at the door that was now open. There stood a tall, spiky brown-haired figure - Jansen, the Netherlands. He mumbled something around the pipe jutting out of his lips as he strolled over to where he had been sitting at the end of the table, his blue and white scarf flapping behind him. Jansen was a rather formidable nation, taller than most countries and dressed in a tan jacket and shorts. Several admitted to avoiding him purely for his brash and occasionally rude nature. This nature even showed in the way he completely ignoring Arthur and Francis, beginning to gather the papers he had left behind when he pulled Alfred aside.

Kiku often vouched for him. "He's not that bad," the island nation would mutter, "If you got to know him." At this point someone would say something in complete opposition and the outnumbered Kiku would have to sigh and relent. What good was convincing people who didn't wish to be convinced?

However, back to the point at hand.

Arthur looked at the door, then over at Jansen. Where was Alfred? Francis seemed to be thinking the same thing, brows furrowed. He coughed a little, patting England's shoulder as he strolled towards the door. "_Bonne chance, Angleterre_," he whispered quietly. At times, even Francis knew when to shut up and take his leave. _Angelterre_ could work out whatever was bothering him on his own, hopefully. Francis could just feel that Arthur desperately wanted to get a word in with Jansen, and he was right. Arthur didn't even spare Francis a second look as the romantic nation strolled out of the room.

Silence descended except for the sound of Jansen shuffling with his papers. It took Arthur a moment to regain his composure enough to push himself out of his chair. He was only just standing when Jansen's voice rang out.

"Man, you screwed up."

Few nations were that straight-forward, or that rude. Generally comments like that were sprouted at him from France's lips in the heat of battle. Even Alfred wasn't that blunt with his words. Instantly Arthur clenched his fists, angry someone dared to use such a mocking tone with him.

"Excuse me?" Arthur asked, keeping his voice even as he could. He had to remind himself that he was a gentleman, and that gentlemen did no just up and punch someone when annoyed. No, they asked for explanations, then punched people when warranted.

Jansen tapped small pile of papers on the desk before folding them in half, gently shoving them into one of his jacket pockets. Once that chore was done, he crossed his arms over his chest and fixed Arthur with a sharp look. "You screwed up," he repeated slowly, as if speaking to a child. He pulled the pipe from his mouth, blowing out a series of smoke rings in Arthur's direction before replacing it between his lips. Arthur coughed a little as the smoke hit him, fanning it away with his hand.

"Alfred's stubborn as a mule, throwing all of this 'heroes don't need help' bullshit around," Jansen continued, taking another deep drag on the pipe. Smoke billowed from his lips as he spoke. "He's so prideful. It's annoying. Guess he got it from you, huh?"

Arthur scowled. "Where do you get off?" he snarled, patience worn thin.

"Save it, England," Jansen replied cockily, leaning on the table and meeting Arthur's eyes. "Here's where everything stands - Alfred's being a moron and not accepting help on the spill. I have three oil skimmers standing by waiting to help, but if he won't take it then that's his problem. We all know this problem is going to get out of hand fast."

"What do you expect me to do?" Arthur asked, turning his head away from the smoke. "If he needs help, he'll get it."

Now Jansen laughed, but it held no humor. It was completely mocking. "Gods, how annoying. Do you really think he will ask for help?" questioned Jansen, raising an eyebrow. He sighed, shrugging before Arthur could even answer. "Look, the point is the oil is still flowing and it's getting worse. What I expect you to do is convince him to take up my offer. Get him to shove that egotistical attitude of his and take some help."

"You talk as if I am his father and can make him magically change his mind," Arthur scoffed.

"At one point, weren't you?" he shot back, snorting in amusement at the look of shock on Arthur's face. "A long time ago, before Alfred went and left you?"

The bitter memories attached to those words left Arthur speechless. A gun aimed at his head, Alfred towering over him. Rain. It made Arthur upset just thinking about it. How many years had he spent brooding over that, and people still threw it in his face? He pressed his lips together tightly, hands shaking, nails digging into his palms. Jansen watched Arthur silently rage before scoffing, turning towards the door. He knocked shoulders with Alfred as he strolled out.

"Think about it," Jansen said, but it wasn't directed at one male or the other. Alfred watched in confusion as Jansen walked away until he turned back to the room, seeing Arthur glaring at where Jansen had been standing. Anyone could see the wheels turning in his head, trying to put together what he had missed.

Arthur meanwhile took a deep breath, letting it out slowly through his nose. Thank gods he had a full bottle of gin waiting for him at home. He was fully ready to get out of here, forget that conversation ever happened while drowning his self-pity in the alcohol he had sitting on his counter-top.

"Arthur?"

If only he had it with him now.

While Arthur had been seething, Alfred moved to grab his bag from the chair closest to the door, the ridiculous book bag decorated with buttons featuring various patriotic phrases and symbols. Now he stood there looking uncertain, torn between walking away and asking what happened. Arthur turned his gaze to his _ex_-colony, as Jansen had so viciously reminded him. A long silence passed as Arthur stared at his face, unblinking, remembering Francis's words.

_"He seems a little pale, non?"_

"What is it? Do I have ketchup on my face?" Alfed's words jarred Arthur out of his thoughts. The younger nation looked away, disliking Arthur's critical stare. Using gloved fingers Alfred rubbed at the corners of his lips, trying to remove any traces of food that might have lingered behind.

Arthur shook his head. "Nothing. Why did you not take Jansen's offer, you twat?" Arthur asked bluntly, crossing his arms.

"What?" Alfred asked, looking back at Arthur quickly, wondering how he knew. His face darkened a little and he looked away just as fast. "Oh, he told you?"

"You're avoiding," Arthur commented, picking up his notebook and beginning to gently store it away in his suitcase. "Why are you avoiding it? Accepting his help is nothing to be ashamed of -"

"You stay out of it," Alfred replied curtly, looking back at Arthur. "These are my waters, my foreign affairs. You're paying me back for the explosion and the spill, and I've got my own ships at work. If you've got a problem with how I run things, then too bad."

"Why you look here -" Arthur began, but was sharply cut off.

"We're handling it!" Alfred snapped, his face flushed from rising temper.

That did it. Arthur stormed over and grabbed Alfred forcefully by his jacket, pulling him down just enough to stare him down eye-to-eye. Up close, Alfred didn't look as tan as he usually did. He had the beginning of dark rings under his eyes. When did those happen? Why hadn't Arthur noticed?

"Listen to me, you git. I've already sent out four ROVs to manually activate the blowout preventers and none of them have worked! We are not handling it! Do you realize what's going to happen? The entire Gulf will turn into a dead sea!" Arthur yelled in response. "Swallow your bloody pride and go take Jansen's offer, damn it! You can't be the bloody damn hero all the time!" Arthur was trembling, shaking from frustration, anger, and fear. Arthur would never admit to the last one.

Alfred seethed, slapping Arthur's hands and pushing him away. "Where do you get off telling me what to do?" Alfred yelled at the top of his lungs, "You always do this, ever since I was young."

"Don't you start!" Arthur shouted, voice shaking, but Alfred continued on.

"You told me how to act, what to do. You never cared about me, only that I was molded in your image. You were always telling me what to wear, how to behave, what to eat. I was nothing more than a symbol of the great British Empire!" Alfred threw his arms up and out, a theatrical movement to go with his sarcastic, mocking tone.

"Will you listen to yourself? Have you forgotten how much I sacrificed for you, how hard I tried to make you happy? I was trying to raise you right!" Arthur shouted, anger rising. Could Alfred really not see that Arthur was trying to help him?

"Oh come off it! You were only concerned I'd leave you, like I did! You were doing nothing more than trying to win me over!" Alfred snapped, "Quit acting like you're my father, big brother, whatever! It's been over two hundred years since I declared my independence. See, this was why I fought for my freedom, you bastard! You're a domineering, self-centered jackass who never thought of anyone but yourself. and you can't accept that I've grown up and can do whatever the hell I -"

_SMACK!_

Neither man spoke. They just stood there, immobile, as if neither could believe what had just happened. It was so quick, there and gone in the blink of an eye. That little, momentary spark that lit up his pent up anger was all that was needed for Arthur to lash out. His palm came down and Alfred's head snapped to the side, his cheek blooming a rosy shade of red instantly. His glasses skidded across the floor, knocking into the wall. Panting from the sudden outburst, Arthur slowly pulled his hand back, rubbing gentle circles over his sore palm. His fingertips and palm were also red where they had connected with Alfred's skin.

The two nations tilted their heads to stare at each other, each one asking the other why they did that. Why did Alfred have to say those things? Why did Arthur slap him? Arthur opened his mouth and shut it, like a fish out of water. Swallowing audibly, Alfred just shook his head in disbelief. Both of them were at a loss of words.

Alfred was trying to process the situation. Arthur just _slapped_ him. They were never on the best terms after the Revolution, but never to the point of physical violence. Slowly Alfred reached up, rubbing his cheek and wincing at the sting.

Arthur stared openly for a long time before finally buckling, being the first to look away. After his outburst he felt drained, tired. All he wanted to do was go home, sign some paperwork, and sleep. Arthur raised a tired hand and rubbed his face. He couldn't look at Alfred anymore, at the damage he inflicted. "Do what you will, Alfred," Arthur whispered, turning on his heel. "I'm sending two more ROVs in to try the blowout preventers. If those don't work, we have a containment dome we are planing on installing over the pipe. I'll send a message when we have an update on the situation."

Alfred didn't try to stop the older nation as he strode back to his chair, his head held high in a weak attempt to retain some dignity. Quickly Arthur snatched up his suitcase and brushed past Alfred without ever looking at him. The door slammed shut loudly behind Arthur, leaving Alfred alone for the first time all day. When Arthur left, everything fell apart. Alfred let his strong facade drop, running his shaking fingers through blond locks. Moving sluggishly, his body sore and stomach sick, Alfred walked over and slid down to the floor by his glasses. He leaned on the wall, head tipped back, face scrunched up in pain, and coughed.

That was the last time Arthur and Alfred would speak for two months, because by the end of May Alfred quit showing up at the world meetings.

* * *

A/N: French translations:  
Mon cher - My love.  
Angleterre - England  
Amerique - America  
Bonne Chance - Good Luck

I believe that is all of them. Please review. I'd love opinions on this! I'll get the second and third parts up as soon as I can :) Until then, ta ta!


	2. And Thus Francis Makes A Good Point

A/N:Woot! Six hours later and I'm done with editing the second chapter. I want to thank everyone who reviewed, favorited, and alerted this story. I'm glad ya'll are enjoying it. This chapter was a little awkward for me to edit, because I made a lot of obscure jokes in some places that I either took out or revised, and I added a lot in. So I hope it came out alright. I'm also going to try to have the third part edited and up by tomorrow, but no promises. It's the part that probably needs the most editing because of how rushed it was.

Also, I totally added in the Toris/Feliks conversation in the very beginning last minute, because I've had the oddest urge to talk like Feliks for a long time. :3 Hehe.

Warnings for this chapter: Even more abuse of the French language, a bit of angst, shirtless Alfred mentioned in passing, and a distinct lack of kissing. (Sorry fangirls XD)

Disclaimer: I disclaim this.

* * *

May 22nd, four weeks after the oil leak was detected, found the world meeting more solemn than usual. Every nation present exchanged confusion when one head went unaccounted for. The seat at the head of the table was left empty, the spot usually reserved for the self-proclaimed hero of the world. The nation exchanged glances that varied from worried to enthused. After all, if Alfred was gone, then they would not have to worry about any of his moronic ideas.

"We can, like, totally take a free day," Feliks commented, leaning back in his chair and kicking his thousand dollar designer boots up on the table. "What do you think, Liet? We can, like, totally ditch this place and go swimming!"

Toris frowned at Alfred's empty seat. "I'm a little concerned about Alfred. Do you think he's alright?" Toris asked, making Feliks snort.

"Who cares? I'm sure he's just, like, off doing important hero work or something," Feliks commented, examining his nails and chipping a bit of electric blue nail polish off of his thumb.

"Maybe we should assemble a search party?" Kiku suggested quietly, earning a few nods from those who were concerned as he was.

It was Jansen, surprisingly, who finally spoke up for Alfred's absence.

"He's taking a day off," he mumbled out from around his pipe.

With those words every nation began the universal act of gossiping, a skill they were very good at. Words were heatedly exchanged, a quiet buzz going on all around the room. Even Ludwig gave up attempting to lead the meeting in some orderly fashion and stepped down, instead gruffly conversing with Italy and Japan on the issue.

Arthur spoke to no one. He was far too aware of the eyes on him as he stood an hour into the so-called "meeting", declaring his leave loudly. "Seeing as we aren't getting anything productive done. I have my own matters to attend to," Arthur said by way of excuse. Everyone watched in silence as he grabbed his suitcase and strolled out of the room. The moment the door slammed behind him, several voices rang out at once. It was like a high school classroom right after the teacher walked out - Twenty different conversations all about the exact same thing.

"Do you think, like, Alfred's ill? Totally not cool. I guess he hasn't been -"

"- yelling, da! I heard them from down the hallway a few weeks ago. The-"

"- ocean, aru. It's his own fault for not having proper protocol set up. Arthur should go -"

"- offer help, I would, but I have my own internal affairs to attend to. Maybe -"

"- pasta~! Ne ne, Germany? You promised to take me out to eat!"

All the conversations blurred together, nations conversing and gossiping. A few shot glances at the door, as if waiting for Arthur or Alfred to come wandering in. Despite the mismatch of accents and dialects, there was one universal thought amongst the nations of the world - What would happen? If Alfred was ill enough to miss a meeting, what would happen if he couldn't recover? None of the nations could comprehend Alfred frail, weakened. Alfred hadn't shown weakness in so long. Some could argue the oil spill only added to a toll that had already been settled on Alfred's shoulders, between his debts and economic recession. Several believed Alfred's sickness was to be expected.

"Remember the Civil War? He bounced back from that pretty well," Roderich mentioned, looking thoughtful. "I'm sure once this is cleaned up he'll be fine."

"Have you seen his scars, though? From the Civil war? All across his back is marred," Elizaveta commented her ex-husband, "They're awful! Even if he can bounce back, it could leave a lasting impression on his nation."

Roderich nodded, contemplating this new tidbit of information, then paused. "How do you know how bad his scars are?" he asked, eyes narrowed at the Hungarian woman who was suddenly captivated with Felicano and Ludwig's conversation of where to eat for dinner.

Conversation continued on much like this, each nation reminding each other of horrible events in history. Kiku held his head high as he spoke of how he survived the nuclear bombs. France stroked his stubble and muttered something about the Bastille. Ivan chuckled as he remembered his own bloody history that was too long to recount. A few, like Elizaveta, kept speaking of the problems Alfred was having even before the spill. They argued, contemplated, and reminisced. Every person in the room was so absorbed in his or her own little world that none of them even noticed a certain Frenchman quietly stand up and leave without a word.

* * *

Having an older brother was far from luxurious. Matthew had discovered this from a young age, finding Alfred got him in nothing but trouble from the moment the two first met. He had lost track of how many times he had gotten blamed for Alfred's fault. How many times he had been attacked because people couldn't distinguish the two brothers? It sometimes made Matthew mad. Honestly, how could people confuse the two of them? Asides from having the same the blond hair, blue eyes, height, and glasses, Canada didn't look anything like America! Matthew sighed, pulling his gaze away from the window and the beautiful countryside.

Despite all of this, he still cared for his brother deeply. That was why Matthew was in Alfred's kitchen, working slowly to prepare his sibling's dinner. No matter how much trouble Matthew got in because of Alfred, he could never hate his brother enough to turn his back on him in a time of need.

"I just don't get it sometimes, Kumakuro," Matthew muttered softly, reaching over to turn off the faucet he was using to fill up a glass of water. Gently he placed it on a tray, the ice cubes tinkling as the knocked against the sides as he continued, "We don't look alike, or even act alike. We're even in two separate places on the map! I just don't understand. You can tell us apart, can't you?" Matthew turned his attention to the fluffy polar bear laying on the table.

Meanwhile, said polar bear looked up from the table with a blank, vacant expression. "Who are you?"

Sigh. "Canada. You know, Matthew?" Matthew told him quietly. He pulled down a plate, working his way around the quaint little kitchen as he fixed up the food. He grabbed buns, lettuce, tomato slices, ketchup, mustard, and basically all the fixins for homemade burgers. Sizzling on the stove were the burgers themselves, the delicious smell wafting through the air. Matthew knew exactly how Alfred liked them, using little lettuce and loading on the ketchup with a faint cringe of disgust. With a bit of wishful thinking Matthew thought of pancakes drenched in maple syrup and topped with whipped cream and strawberries. Adamantly he decided he would make some of those for breakfast. Alfred wouldn't mind if they at least had them for breakfast, right?

Matthew nearly dropped the ketchup bottle when he heard a knock at the door. "Coming!" Matthew yelled, wondering who had come to visit this time. People had been coming and going since he woke up at seven A.M., nearly twelve hours ago. Some had come for political reasons, and others came simply to know if Alfred really was sick. Quickly turning off the stove so the hamburgers didn't burn, Matthew hurried from the kitchen, passing through the dining room and into the foyer. Taking just a moment to make sure he didn't have any food on his hoodie, Matthew drew in a breath and unlocked the door. He already knew exactly what he would say to the person on the other side, having repeated the same words over and over to the various nations who had stopped by.

"Hello, I'm sorry but - Papa!"

It was a surprise to see Francis standing on the doorstep. Matthew smiled and reached out, hugging the older nation. Francis smiled cheerfully at his former colony when Matthew pulled away. "_Bonjour, Mathieu_," Francis greeted, "_Ça va?_"

"_Ça va bien, merci. Et toi, ça va?_" Matthew asked with a smile, his accent perfect. Unlike Alfred and Arthur, Francis and Matthew stayed on fairly good terms. Despite the fact Matthew had been taken under Arthur's rule at a young age, Francis had left an lasting impression on him. The fact Francis could actually remember him (most of the time) probably helped the situation.

"_Ça va, merci_." Francis slipped a hand behind Matthew's head and kissed his forehead briefly before strolling into the foyer, looking around at the baby blue walls, the cowboy memorabilia, and the hanging photographs. "Say, is Alfred here?" Francis asked suddenly, turning back to look at Matthew.

Still a little pink from the kiss, Matthew fidgeted in place. "He is," Matthew answered softly, "but he's -"

Francis held up a hand, stopping Matthew from speaking. "I swear I won't be long," he promised, stepping past Matthew towards the stairway.

"_O-oui_, just don't stress him out, please?" Matthew pleaded, watching Francis disappear upstairs.

"I won't!" Francis honestly had no plans up his sleeves. No, he merely wished to discuss something important with Alfred. He inched his way up the stairs, admiring the pale blue walls and the fine oak floors. On the second landing there were four doors, a little window at the end of the hall, and a vase of flowers settled between two of the doors. Francis spied a cowboy hat hanging on one of the walls. It was amusing how much it looked like a picturesque country farmhouse from colonial days. Looking carefully, Francis was able to easily pick out which door lead to Alfred's room. He approached the door whose surface was decorated with red and blue stars and knocked twice before he cracked the door open.

"Alfred?" Francis asked softly, peering into the dimly lit room. The curtains were drawn over the windows, a little light filtering in from between the cracks. Francis spied a chest of drawers, pictures set a top it of Alfred. A couple featured Matthew, Francis noted with a smile, and one was pushed face down. There was a small nightstand by the bed holding a lamp, alarm clock, a pair of glasses, and a box of tissues. A waste basket was next to it. Light was filtering into the room from the bathroom. It was enough to illuminate the body-shaped lump that was tangled up in red-white-and-blue bedsheets, blond hair sticking out from underneath them.

"_Amerique_, are you awake?"

The blond lump shifted, tugging the blanket down enough to show blue eyes over the top. Groaning as he sat up, blanket falling down to show his shirtless state, Alfred rubbed his eyes. "If I had known you'd be stopping by I would have worn a shirt," Alfred muttered grumpily, eliciting a laugh from the Frenchman. Alfred snorted, not finding that humorous at all, and fumbled around for his glasses.

"By all means, do not feel inclined to put one on just because of my presence," Francis teased, wagging his eyebrows. Promptly he received a pillow to the face, stumbling back a bit from the force. For someone who was supposed to be sick, Alfred was quite energetic and strong. Francis moodily removed the pillow from his face in time to see Alfred put on his glasses, running a hand through messy tresses.

"Why are you here?" Alfred mumbled, sounding exhausted. Francis stepped further into the room, looking closely at Alfred's face. If he had seemed pale a few weeks ago he was definitely paler now, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. The red veins coursing through the whites of his eyes, surrounding the brilliantly blue pupils were patriotic in a sick way.

Francis helped himself to a seat on the edge of the bed, twiddling his thumbs. "Why so brash, _Amerique_?" he laughed good-naturedly, clearly far less on edge than the nation currently bed-ridden. "You sound far too much like Arthur when you use that -"

Anyone could have seen Alfred's reaction to being compared to Arthur from miles away. Even a blind person could have seen this coming. Apparently Francis was the only one who couldn't. Alfred pushed Francis roughly off of the bed, feeling a little self-satisfied when he heard Francis hit the hard wood floor. Climbing out of the bed himself, Alfred took a second to make sure his legs wouldn't give out before fixing a firm stare on Francis. "Git out of here! If yer just going to mock me I'm not in th' mood, y'hear?" Alfred snapped, the hick accent Arthur had tried so desperately to stomp out of him slurring his speech. It was almost comical to listen to. Francis would have laughed if Alfred wasn't glaring him down like a bull in front of a red flag. Alfred stormed over to his door and nearly collided with it when Matthew pushed it open.

It took Matthew a second to take in the scene, looking Alfred up and down before flicking his gaze about the rest of the room. A disapproving frown was directed at Francis, who was still sprawled on the floor. Matthew slowly put down Kumajiro, using one hand to carefully balance the try of food his free hand shut the door. Matthew never got mad, ever, but sometimes he wished he could. It would be so much easier to just yell at Alfred to get back into bed and to kick Francis out of the house. However, he was not like that. Instead of yelling Matthew quietly set the tray of food down on the bedside table before turning and putting one hand on his hip, the other pointing at the bed. Over the top of his glasses he locked eyes with Alfred, never saying a word. His actions said everything and, reluctantly, Alfred shuffled back over to the bed like a kicked dog. Speaking of kicking, he made sure to slam his foot into Francis's knee as he crawled back into bed, making Matthew sigh in frustration and Francis yelp like a girl.

"What was -" Francis began to yell, but was sharply cut off by a soft voice.

"Shush, _taisez-vous_!" Matthew ordered quietly, fixing Francis with a stern stare. "_Il est malade et a besoin de paix et de calme. Yell une fois de plus et je vais devoir vous demander de partir_. Okay?" Matthew was a quiet creature, but he mustered as much authority as he could and put it into his voice as he spoke. Francis grumbled something under his breath, but the fact he didn't openly argue seemed to be enough for Matthew to smile in satisfaction.

Alfred frowned at his brother, hating when he spoke in French even if it wasn't directed at him. He could not make heads or tails of it half the time. "Please tell me you told him to get the hell out of my bedroom," Alfred mumbled as he laid down, pulling the blankets up to his neck. He was half tempted to ask his brother to grab him a shirt before the leech on the floor tried something.

Much to Alfred's dismay, Matthew shook his head. He stepped around Kumajiro towards the bed, sitting down on the edge. He was not leaving Francis and Alfred alone in a room together again without being certain they weren't going to kill each other. "I told him to keep quiet," Matthew replied, setting the tray on Alfred's chest and the glass of water on the nightstand where it wouldn't spill.

"It took you that many words just to say 'keep quiet'?" Alfred asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow. Foreign languages just stunned him like that. Matthew just shrugged, not bothering to explain the full extent of what he had said to Francis.

While this brief exchange went on, Francis pulled himself off of the floor and dusted off his uniform. Happily his pride was only mildly wounded from the fall. Nothing a bandage and maybe a kiss couldn't fix. However he was not enduring that again. This time when he sat down Francis was wise enough to pull over a chair instead, placing it away from the bed before sitting down. Couldn't risk his kneecaps to Alfred's feet in case he got mad again. He cleared his throat and adopted a business look, folding his hands in his lap and waiting until Alfred directed his attention to him before beginning to speak. "Look, _Amerique_, I am here to offer -"

"No thanks."

Francis stared in disbelief. "You haven't even heard what I'm going to offer!"

Alfred crossed his arms under the covers. "But I do. Do you realize how many nations have stopped by within the last week to offer their services to help clean up the Gulf? Thirteen. There were nations I didn't even know of who offered assistance!" Alfred held up his hands, ticking off the nations as he named them.

"Croatia, Germany, Iran, Ireland, Mexico, the Netherlands, Norway, Romania, South Korea, Spain, Sweden, Canada and - " Alfred trailed off, swallowing, "- England. All of them have offered helped, and I'll tell you the exact same thing I told them." Alfred cleared his throat before saying sternly, "Thanks, but we have it covered."

Matthew frowned where Alfred couldn't see, but Francis caught it. Obviously Matthew didn't approve of his brother declining that much help that he obviously needed. Francis looked Alfred from covered toe to blond head before raising an eyebrow. "You have it covered? The only thing I see covered is your body," Francis snorted, throwing his arms up. "_Amerique_, please be reasonable."

"I am. I don't need help," Alfred grumbled, picking up his hamburger and biting into it violently. "We're working on solutions right now."

Francis stared down at Alfred. He didn't want to have to say this. "You took Jansen's help," Francis retorted, causing Alfred to choke on a bite he swallowed too fast in surprise. "What makes my offer any different, hm?"

"What is it to you?" Alfred demanded, avoiding the question and scowling. "He offered and was just persistent, that's all. So what?"

"Don't you mean Arthur was persistent?" Francis whistled, examining his nails. "A little - how do you say? - birdie told me about his instance that you get help."

Alfred threw down his food, covering his face with his hands. "Damn it, does everyone know?" he yelled, muttering swear words under his breath. "First Yao and Ivan, now you? Gods, who next? Antonio?"

Francis raised an eyebrow in curiosity. Leaning over, Matthew shyly whispered, "I-Ivan and Yao stopped by earlier and asked about what happened between Arthur and him. Alfred didn't take it well. They were making all sorts of assumptions."

"Who the hell told you anyways?" Alfred demanded, picking up his burger again.

Francis glanced back at the ill nation who was violently tearing apart his meal with his teeth. He almost felt sorry for the hamburger patty. "Oh I've heard it here and there. It's a smaller world than you'd like to think," Francis commented mysteriously, waving Alfred off. "Just listen for one moment. I have a fleet of oil skimmers I am willing to send to assist you. Just give me the word and I can have them at the Gulf the second you say the word. "

"What part of 'We have it under control' do you not get?" Alfred asked, sighing. This conversation was quickly wearing on his nerves. Why in the world was Francis being so stubborn about this?

"You're on the verge of a national disaster, _Amerique!_" Francis exclaimed.

"You know, it might not hurt to take his help," Matthew whispered quietly, finally speaking up.

"You too?" Alfred asked incredulously. He scowled at them both, almost on the verge of pouting. Why was he being ganged up on? Weren't you supposed to be nice to sick people? He shoved the last bite in his mouth. It was his country, what did it matter what he did as long as no one was being hurt? Why was everyone being so pushy about him getting help? He was fine.

Francis drew in a breath, letting it out slowly. "Please consider it, _Amerique_. They could be helpful. Ar -" Francis quickly shut up, but caved under Alfred's narrow stare. "...Arthur thinks so."

If Francis was beginning to break through Alfred's stubborn shell, then he just lost all of his hard work and progress with those three words. You would think he'd learn not to mention Arthur after Alfred's earlier outburst, but as it seems he did not. "Of course, that's why you're here so suddenly!" Alfred pointed an accusing finger at a confused Francis. "You're only offering to help because Arthur asked you to! He's trying to get me to give in, take help I don't need, make me even more indebted to even more nations! Forget it!"

Francis groaned. "_Mon dieu!_ Will you listen to yourself?" Francis stood up suddenly, staring down at Alfred. "You're far too much like him for your own good. _Non, enfermer!_ Don't talk! I am not here because Arthur asked me to. He wanted me to stay away from you." Alfred watched as Francis cleared his throat, doing a horrible job of impersonating Arthur's accent, "'He can bloody well take care of himself, you damn frog. Leave him be! He can decide on his own, he's a grown man. Don't bother him, you git!' Honestly! You're far too much like him for your own good!"

Alfred stared, shocked to silence. Francis stared down at the younger nation. Slowly, very slowly, Alfred looked away. Francis sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Arthur and I have never seen eye-to-eye, and never dare repeat this, but even I cannot sit by and watch him destroy himself from something as stupid as guilt. Take some help, _Amerique_, for both of your sakes."

With those words Francis leaned over, gently patting Matthew's head before standing and taking his leave. Both blonds just stared in silence, listening to Francis's vanishing footsteps. Down below the door slammed, signaling Francis's official departure. Matthew slowly looked down at his feet, and Alfred stared at his empty plate.

"Mattie?"

"Yeah, Al?"

Matthew pushed up his glasses and looked back at his brother, shocked to see how worn out Alfred looked. His brother pushed away the tray and sighed. For a long moment he was silent, fidgeting with the bed sheets. "Can you help me make out a list of all the nations who offered to help, and exactly what they offered so I can begin sorting through them?" Alfred asked quietly, removing his glasses and carelessly tossing them onto the bedside table. He flinched when they skidded off the edge, clattering onto the floor.

Quickly Matthew moved and picked the fallen spectacles up, replacing them gently on the table. He knew Alfred couldn't see, but he was smiling brightly. "Of course I can, Alfred. Want me to make some calls, ask exactly what they're offering if they haven't said?" Matthew questioned gently.

Alfred nodded in response. Personally all he wanted to do was sleep. Moving the tray to the empty side of the bed, Alfred pulled the covers over his head. Taking his cue to leave, Matthew began gathering the tray and patted his leg for Kumajiro. The fuzzy polar bear wiggled his way out from under the bed where he had been sleeping, allowing himself to be scooped up by Matthew. Precariously balancing the tray in one hand and holding Kumajiro against his hip with the other, Matthew uttered a quiet goodnight to his brother, completely ignoring the fact it was only a little after eight and only just beginning to get dark. A soft mumble from the bed stopped him before he walked out the door. Matthew turned back, peering at the lump of covers. "Yes, Alfred? What -"

"Am I like him?"

The question hung in the air like a dead weight on both of their shoulders. Matthew didn't even need to ask Alfred to explain who he was talking about. A sad expression crossed over Matthew's face as he worried his lip between his teeth."Don't dwell on it," Matthew whispered, afraid of saying something his brother didn't want to hear. He didn't know what Alfred was looking for in asking that, and thankfully Alfred didn't persist in his questioning. The lump of covers went silent and still, and after a moment Matthew heard the soft sound of Alfred's breathing.

Matthew quietly slipped out of the room, intent to compile that list before the end of the day. They didn't have a moment to lose. The oil was spreading, and hurricane season was well on its merry way. Alfred was about to be faced with a lot to get under control before the hurricanes came in and swept the oil to distant parts of the U.S. - the oil flow rate was increasing, and attempts to stop it kept failing.

Well damn.  


* * *

A/N: French Translations:  
"Shush, be quiet! He is sick and needs peace and quiet. Yell again and I'll have to ask you to leave. Okay?" is basically what Canada tells France.  
I think that's the big one. Let me know if there are any I miss. Reviews and comments on this are love :) I swear there will be some fluff in the next, and final, part.


	3. During This Arthur Apologizes, Finally

A/n is below today ;)

Warnings: As per the previous chapter, completely un-betaed except by myself. Also included is even more abuse of the French language, potentials for cavities from the fluffiness, wild mass guessing, and hey, everyone, guess who finally wrote a kiss scene? ;)

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia in any way, shape, or form. Nor do I own the one line of lyric from "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" by Green Day. Okay? Okay. So, there's no need to sue me now. Wonderful!

* * *

The weeks passed slowly. By mid-June Ludwig managed to get the meetings back into semi-working order through the threat of violence to the next person who got off topic. Alfred was still ill and only getting worse, which was to be expected. The efforts to stop the flow of oil into the Gulf of Mexico were not working, and the damage to the economy of the Gulf was leaving him miserable. Matthew passed on Alfred's conditions to Francis, who relayed them to the rest of the nations. A few were lucky enough to speak to Alfred themselves to discuss matters of assistance, however those were few and far between. Alfred had gone a little lax on the regulations about whose help he was accepting, but most offers were still only put "under consideration."

Yes, Alfred's absence was beyond expected. What was not expected when Arthur missed a meeting.

It was ten weeks after the initial discovery of a oil leak. Arthur Kirkland - The same Arthur Kirkland who worked through rain and snow, war time and economic depression - missed a world meeting. This time Ludwig didn't even try to keep a stable work environment. It was time to cue the mass wild guessing, start putting together search parties, and begin another heated round of gossiping. Arthur-bloody-Kirkland does _not_ just miss a meeting with no forewarning. Not one nation could name a time ever that Arthur had ever missed a meeting, period!

Kiku's initial reaction was to go send someone to check on him, and Ivan instantly offered to go. A little fearfully, Toris interjected that they should draw straws as to who went to check on him, mostly out of fear for England's safety if the larger nation were to go by. At this Ivan stared at Toris and sent the poor nation cowering behind Feliks. Instantly Feliks was up in arms against Ivan, snapping at him to "Dude, like, just totally be nice to Liet or I'll, like, initiate Poland's rule, got it?"

Immediately Lovino deemed the whole thing pointless and stupid, stating they should just go on with the meeting. He was promptly ignored by everyone else in the room, much to his annoyance. Vash just shook his head, deciding adamantly to not get involved. He was also ignored, to his relief.

Meanwhile, Antonio began taking bets on why Arthur missed the meeting. The theories ranged from slightly plausible to absolutely ridiculous. Roderich, Tino, Ludwig, and a reluctant Lovino bet he got caught up in work. Francis, Gilbert, Berwald, and Yao bet he had gone to reconcile with Alfred, as most of the nations knew of Alfred and Arthur's fight by now. Francis was far too right about it being a smaller world than most would think. Ivan and Kiku, a bit to Kiku's shock, both bet he had fallen ill just like Alfred. The two nations exchanged a glance, and Kiku shuddered away from Ivan's cheerful smile.

Feliciano bet they were sharing a plate of pasta, causing every nation to shake his or her head at the poor simpleton.

Elizaveta, however, went a completely different route. A rather, ah, artistic route. "I bet Arthur went to Alfred's house to reconcile with him. He has obviously had a guilty conscience over the whole fight. Haven't you guys seen him moping around? So Arthur showed up at his house, guilty and rain-soaked, to pled for forgiveness. Alfred accepted his apology, obviously, unable to stay mad. Alfred also apologized for being such a stubborn jerk, and Arthur happily accepted. So now that all is right, the only thing left to do is, well, lets just say..." she trailed off, smiling sagely at the men listening so intently. They all leaned in, and most of the conversation even died down. Even Vash and Lovino looked interested.

"...right now they are in the middle of the heated, rough throes of passion," she finished, nodding in agreement to her own statement. Most of the men shot her weird looks. Tino and Berwald's glances met before they quickly looked away, cheeks colored red at Elizaveta's implications. Francis offered her a high five only to get whacked over the head by her frying pan when she assumed he was making a move on her. Instantly Lovino changed his bet, and Vash returned to being neutral.

In the end, though, after hours of arguing and speculating, not one of the nations of the world was right...

* * *

...entirely.

Arthur sat on the windowsill in his temporary bedroom, watching the sun slowly falling below the horizon in the distance. London was truly beautiful at sunset, the sky turned a dusky shade of purple that reflected off the buildings and windows. At the moment he had a hard time looking directly at the sky, having to shut his eyes often when little dots began dancing in and out of his vision. He was still trying to get sobered up from last night. In the background the radio was turned up, blaring some punk rock song about a metaphorical boulevard made of dreams. Arthur lightly nodded his head in time to the music, singing along.

"Read between the lines - what's fucked up and everything's alright," Arthur sung, shutting his eyes and flipping off the air before pulling his hands closer to his chest. As the lead singer broke into the chorus, Arthur fingered the air like he would a guitar, strumming invisible chords and playing along to the harmony. Gods, did he miss his old six-string. He had bought it centuries ago, when he was still a lad himself. Maybe he could go pull it out of his attic and just sit down to play for an hour or two, try to forget about the world for a while.

Arthur coughed suddenly, leaning forward to rest his head on his knees as he tried to regain his breath. Forgetting about the world would be wonderful. At the moment, though, he doubted it was possible. Left and right he was being assaulted with enthusiastic young reporters and middle-aged lawyers. Day and night he was signing papers, making calls, and trying to keep the news off of his back. Needless to say Arthur was sick of it, literally and metaphorically. Recently he was beginning to think he was ill himself, feeling a stiff pain throughout his body whenever he moved too much or sick to his stomach when he even glanced at food. Was this how Alfred felt? Or was it worse?

Slowly Arthur pulled himself back up into a sitting position, resting his cheek against the glass of the window. The cool glass felt good on burning skin. When the hell did it get so hot? Arthur shrugged it off, tilting his head to peer up at the sky into the distance, then glanced down at his watch. Ten past eight post meridiem. Solemnly he pulled his attention from the sky. He couldn't stay here. Coughing once more he waltzed over to his closet and pulled out a long jacket and cap, adorning both pieces of clothing at once.

At that moment Arthur didn't particularly care where he went, as long as he wasn't inside. He was sick of being inside, piles of paper upon the desk in his study reminding him of the numerous lawsuits made against one of his best companies. People continuously badgering him to get this done and get that done. Letters were left scattered on his dining table as he passed through to grab his keys, most of which were from various citizens. Arthur didn't even bother to look closely at them, trying to wish them away.

The first burst of early July breeze hit him with the fresh smell of spring as he stepped outside. The trees lining the streets were in full bloom. There was a little light left in the distance, but at this point the street lamps were lit up. They glowed eerily against the purpling sky. Arthur pulled his cap down over his face and took off down the nearly empty streets, taking back roads to avoid being seen. He just wanted to be alone for a few hours. Was that too much to ask?

By time Arthur arrived at the Thames river darkness had settled over the city. Slowly Arthur moved off of the road he had been jogging along and found himself a little patch of grass to settle in by the bank. Dew soaked into his pants, but he could ignore it. Boats called out from the docks nearby, blowing their horns loudly to break the nearly silent night. Behind him a cat yowled loudly at the moon. Even this late at night his city was alive.

Somewhere far off, invisible even on the distant horizon, sparks of blue, red, and white exploded in the sky.

Arthur knew it was his imagination, but he could almost hear the jubilation. Somewhere across the great Atlantic Ocean people were cheering at the top of their lungs, singing praises to the best nation on earth. Or at least they would be in several hours, when their time caught up to his. Time zones aside, the point remained that Arthur found it almost admirable how, even in such hard times, Alfred's people could find patriotism in their hearts. People could still find reason to celebrate. So what if the Gulf was becoming a dead sea? At least they were free.

Today was Alfred's birthday, and Arthur was more miserable this year than he had ever been. Gently resting his chin on his knees, wrapping his arms around his legs, Arthur sighed as he tried to ignore the pain in his chest. It was much easier said than done, and before he knew it he was remembering things best left forgotten. So caught up in his own melancholy, Arthur never noticed someone approach until he was standing right behind him.

"You going to sit out here and brood, _non_? Like you do every year?"

Arthur groaned, covering his face with his hands. "Why today, of all days, did you have to bloody come and bug me?" Francis chuckled at Arthur's distress, causing the short male to quickly snap his head up to glare at him. "Stop laughing. Just hearing you makes my blood boil."

Francis crossed his arms, looking across the Thames thoughtfully as he shut up. "The fireworks are gorgeous in America. You wouldn't know, since you never stay long enough to see them," Francis commented, glancing at Arthur out of the corner of his eyes, "You always drop off your present and leave with some stupid excuse when it's so obvious it just pains you to be there. Can you truly not let go of the past, _Angleterre_?"

His words were having no effect. Seeing Arthur sitting there, stubborn and unrelenting, made Francis sigh in frustration. "He misses you," Francis finally uttered aloud. He had been hoping to loosen Arthur up before he got to the point of his appearance.

"No, he doesn't." Ah, argumentative as always. At least Arthur was acting the same. "If he did he'd call me or something. He's got things under control, he's fine. I have my own things to worry about, anyways. I have damn paperwork up to my ears, calls to make, people to fire -"

"Then why aren't you working? Why are you here, dwelling on your misery?"

"Am I not allowed to relax?" Arthur snapped, moving to stand up. He didn't like having to look that far up to meet Francis's eyes. "Why do you care, anyway, you damn frog?"

Francis shrugged mysteriously. "Why do you care to know my motives if you get what you want in the end? And before you ask, what you want is to go apologize to _Amerique_ for being so damn stubborn." Francis held his hand up to stop Arthur from talking, his eyes twinkling as he added, "and then you want to yell at him for taking after you so much. I am right, _oui_?"

Arthur didn't reply. He didn't wish to give Francis the satisfaction of being right, but who good would it do him to even admit to himself that Francis was right? He did want to see Alfred, to reassure himself that he was alright. Maybe he did want to apologize, but how could he do so when they had an ocean separating them? Arthur looked down at the shimmering waters of the Thames, staring at the reflections of the sparkling lamp lights of the city.

"I have work. You don't expect me to just jump on a plane and go see him, do you?" Arthur scoffed softly, crossing his arms and turning his gaze back to the Frenchman. Surprisingly Francis just smiled, beginning to dig around in one of his pockets. That was not the reaction Arthur was expecting. He was even more taken back when Francis pulled an envelope from his pocket. Waving it mockingly in front of Arthur's face, Francis grinned.

"Know what this is, _mon cher?_" Francis sing-songed.

_My gods, could he get any more annoying? _Arthur asked himself. He scowled and snatched the envelope from Francis's hand, snapping, "I could read it myself if you'd hold your damn hand still!" Gently flipping it over in his hand, Arthur saw no distinguishable marks on it. Not even an ounce of writing. Curious, Arthur carefully pulled the envelope flap out of where it had been securely tucked, peering inside at the contents.

Francis laughed at Arthur's shocked face. "It leaves in twenty minutes. You can make it to the airport by then, eh, _Angleterre?_ That money should be enough for a cab," Francis commented nonchalantly, inspecting his fingernails as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world.

Once more, Arthur was speechless. Looking up at Francis then back at the envelope containing his one-way ticket to Washington, D.C., Arthur found himself having a hard time understanding why in the world Francis would do this for him. They had never been friends. However Arthur was not going to complain about the sudden, unexplained act of kindness. Not in a time like this. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he'd owe Francis for it later and hated that fact, but for now he could live with it.

"My work..." Arthur began slowly, trying to work out a way for him to escape to Washington without having to worry about the pile of papers that would stare him down upon his return. Not to mention the numerous politicians and lawyers who would surely kick down his door if he didn't answer.

Francis raised an eyebrow and pointed to himself, instantly causing Arthur to balk. No way in hell. Absolutely positively no damn way. Arthur shook his head in adamant refusal. "No, you are not handling my work."

Surprisingly, Francis didn't lash back. Instead he smiled wider. Arthur really wished he'd quit that - he was bordering on Ivan level creepy. "Well then," Francis said in a perfectly innocent tone that Arthur knew meant he was having less than innocent thoughts, "I suppose you'll just have to send someone to assist me, _non?_"

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "As in who?" Arthur asked, "Tell me, name one completely trustworthy person I can get assistance from on such short notice."

Francis whistled a little. "You know," he began slowly, "Darling little _Mathieu_ is staying with Alfred. Perhaps-"

"That's it."

"What's it?" Francis asked, looking up curiously.

Arthur pointed his finger under Francis's nose. "You're only doing this for me because you want an excuse to be alone with Matthew. This is an excuse to get me gone and him here, you damn frog! Well, I won't have it. You are not molesting him in my house!"

Francis lightly smacked Arthur's cheek admonishment. Arthur smacked his hand away with a scowl. "_Mon dieu_, Arthur, this is not just an excuse to ship you away so I can have my way with Matthew. Besides, once again, does the motive matter if you get your way?"

Arthur seemed to think about this. He shifted from foot to foot, biting his lip and looking back at the Thames. Quickly he checked his watch, finding he didn't have much time to decide if he wished to catch the plane on time.

Slowly Arthur let out a sigh. "I want my house spotless -"

"It will be. I won't destroy anything," Francis reassured.

"-under a _black light _when I return, frog. Got it?" Arthur fixed Francis with a firm, knowing glare.

A Cheshire grin crept over Francis's face. Victory was a cute Canadian. "_Oui oui, Angelterre_. Now go. Your _paramour_ is waiting."

Despite the swear words violently thrown at the Frenchman, Arthur made no word of true arguement as he bolted down the street, hailing the first cab he saw.

* * *

Through the thick walls of his room, Alfred could hear everything. Crickets were singing from the grass around the house. The loud crackling of fireworks echoed through the air, little flares of color illuminating the room every couple of moments from the grandiose French doors that led out to a balcony. Far below people cheered and sung songs of patriotic praise. Alfred shut his eyes, listening to his people. They were singing for him, celebrating his self-declared birthday. It brought a small smile to his face to hear their joy in such dire times.

Alfred groaned and buried his face in the pillow, feeling his stomach lurch painfully. These were dire times indeed. 35,000-60,000 barrels worth of oil was spilling into the Gulf every day with no end in sight. It would be at least a month before the relief wells would be in place to permanently stem the flow of oil. Until then Alfred would be bed ridden, sick, and over all miserable. Alfred hated being stuck in bed. It went against his hyperactive and heroic nature, because in his mind heroes never got sick.

Well, they never got sick unless they were suddenly exposed to their one true weakness, like Superman with kryptonite, but that was another point entirely.

Alfred snatched up a tissue out of the box Matthew had courteously left by his bed, blowing his nose violently before dropping it in the wastebasket that was also left by his caring brother. Three tissues more and a cough attack later and Alfred was back semi-comfortably curled up in a cocoon of blankets. Alfred hated that it would be at least another month before he got any relief. He hated that right now he had to depend on Matthew. Heroes didn't need to depend on other people, damn it!

Suddenly he heard a knock on the door down below. Eyes flitted over to the glowing numbers of the clock on his bedside table and Alfred groaned. It was nearly midnight, and he did not feel like dealing with foreign delegates. Who the hell would even come by at 11:49 at the fucking P.M.? Another knock came on the door, and Alfred buried his face in his pillow in annoyance. Down the hall he heard the guest bedroom open and shut, Matthew's feet quietly shuffling along the hall in an attempt to not wake his brother. Alfred hoped Matthew had enough sense to send whoever it was away.

Alfred snatched the box of tissues again, blowing his nose.

"Coming!" Alfred heard his brother call softly. A moment later the door was pulled open, conversation quietly going on below Alfred's floorboards. Despite his best attempts to eavesdrop, Alfred couldn't hear anything over his sneezes, but didn't particularly care. _Please send them away_, Alfred silently pleded to his brother, shoving a pillow over his head to try to block out the last of the dying bangs from fireworks. Sleep sounded wonderful right now.

The conversation dragged on far longer than Alfred would have expected. Surely he would have heard the door slam if their midnight visitor had left, right? Alfred was almost tempted to pull his head out from under his pillow and go see who it was. In fact he was just about to do this when the bed shook slightly from the door shutting. Alfred let out a sigh. _Finally._

Slowly Alfred relaxed, ready to fall asleep. Outside he heard a car start up, an engine revving in the almost completely silent night. Alfred listened to Matthew's soft footsteps up the stairs, across the carpet, and then...they stopped. Alfred slowly lifted his head, blinking. Trying to listen for the opening and closing of Matthew's door, he was surprised when it didn't happen. In fact, he heard no movement what so all for a few long moments.

Slowly Alfred's door creaked open, just a little. Light filtered in from the hallway, making Alfred blink dots out of his eyes. He reached over and snatched his glasses off of the table-side, squinting at the door._What the - ? _

"Are you awake?"

It was a very soft question from the last person he would expect to be standing in his doorway. Alfred wouldn't have believed that was really Arthur if it wasn't for that thick London accent. For a moment Alfred entertained the possibility he could be dreaming, sitting up slowly. He quickly laid back down as his body protested the movement.

Nope, not dreaming. If he were dreaming he wouldn't feel this sick.

Weakly, Alfred tilted his head to look at the man who was staring at his feet as if they held the secret to the universe. "H-hey, where's Matthew?" Alfred muttered, momentarily forgetting he was angry with Arthur.

"He, um, stepped out. It was important," Arthur said by way of reply, coughing. This was already far harder than it should have been. "May I come in?" Arthur mumbled, drawing in a breath and forcing himself to look up at his former colony. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. If he didn't seem sick before, then Alfred definitely looked sick now. Arthur felt his chest clench a little looking at Alfred's pale face. In the dim light he could make out dark circles under blood-shot eyes. To top it off, Alfred sneezed, quickly snatching the box of tissues off of his bedside table.

Alfred just nodded in response as he blew his nose, Arthur flinching at the disgusting noise. Arthur stepped into the dim room, shutting the door behind him. This effectively shut out all light, forcing Arthur's eyes to adjust slowly. "I hope I'm not intruding," Arthur said a little louder, so Alfred didn't have to strain to hear.

Alfred snorted as he leaned over the side of the bed and tossed his tissue away, holding the box to his chest. Oh yeah, Arthur had been a stubborn jackass so Alfred was ticked. That's right. "You are," he replied mockingly, "but go ahead. What is it?" Alfred was genuinely curious as to what would bring Arthur to his house at nearly midnight. Especially considering they hadn't spoken to each other face to face in over a month, preferring to send very uptight formal letters to each other through various messagers.

Arthur scowled in the darkness. He was trying to apologize here, and that tone was not helping his mood. However he also know that getting mad would not help either. Slowly he counted to ten, drew in a breath, released it, and began to take a step forward. "I realize I've been a bit of a-" Arthur's voice faltered.

"Git?" Alfred offered helpfully, attempting to accent the word as Arthur would. It came out sounding absolutely atrocious, making Arthur pray he would never do that ever again.

"For lack of a better word, yes, a git," Arthur continued slowly, feeling a little more confident with his words. "I downplayed the oil spill. I shouldn't have. I tried to force you to take Jansen's offer because I was..." A sudden cough racked his frame, causing him to falter a little. Arthur was cursing himself as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, covering his mouth. Why was this so difficult?

"You were?" Alfred prompted once the cough died down, wishing Arthur would get on with it. He was not seeing where this was going, despite how obvious it was. It was well known face amongst the other nations that the American was denser than lead.

Arthur tucked the handkerchief carefully back into his pocket, hoping he didn't get stopped by another coughing fit. He drew in a deep breath, taking another step towards the bed, then another. _Might as well just get this out of the way_, he decided. "I was worried about you. I was mad that you didn't take his help because you were putting yourself in more risk because of your idiotic heroism. It wasn't right for me to yell at you like that though, and for that I am sor-"

Several things happened at once in such a quick blur neither man knew what had happened until it was over. Alfred heard the sharp sound of shoe meeting was a sudden crash, a weight thrown onto the bed. Alfred's alarm clock was suddenly gone, bouncing off of the wall and onto the floor with a loud clang. Another clang followed as Arthur almost assuredly knocked over his wastebasket. Hands grabbed his thigh and hip to regain balance, and curses were spewed from lips that were in the middle of a very important apology just seconds ago.

"God damn bloody cords!" Arthur cursed, reaching down and untangling the alarm clock's cord from his foot. "Damn tables. Why don't you have a bloody light on in here?" Arthur fumed, tossing the cord away viciously once he had it unraveled. A small noise attracted his attention, and slowly Arthur looked up, gaping. He was _not_...

"Are you laughing?"

"No." Alfred's body shook a little, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. Arthur stared up at Alfred. It was so dim he could just barely see the outline of his features, but he could see them. One of his hands was on Alfred's hips, so he could even feel the tremors through his body.

"You damn well are!" Arthur yelled. That did it for Alfred. He pulled his hand away form his mouth, laughing heartily at Arthur's expense. Arthur would have none of it. Promptly sitting up and grasping a pillow, he slammed it over Alfred's face, thanking God that it was dark so Alfred couldn't see his blush.

"You be quiet, you git! Gods, I come here to apologize and this is the thanks I get!" Arthur yelled, throwing up his hands in frustration. The movement was cut off when Arthur coughed, bringing his mouth to the crook of his elbow. He didn't wish to get Alfred even more sick, even if was being a twat at the moment.

Gently Alfred removed the pillow from his face, still chuckling. "I'm sorry for ruining your moment," Alfred mocked, throwing the pillow back at Arthur, who promptly tossed it away. Slowly Alfred's chuckling died down, leaving the two men in an awkward silence. The fireworks had died down. The world had gone to bed. Even the crickets had quieted down. Nothing broke the silence until -

"Achoo!" Arthur's body lurched forward at the force of the sneeze. Something banged against his arm as he was recovering. Arthur took the box, thankful to find that they were tissues. Arthur muttered a quiet thank you as he blew his nose.

"You're welcome," Alfred replied back with a shrug. He watched the British gentleman blow his nose. "So, you're sick too?"

"What did you expect? One of my richest companies is on the verge of bankruptcy. This is hurting my economy, too," Arthur snapped in reply, sighing when he realized how angry he sounded. If he got mad at Alfred again that would completely ruin the whole point of this visit. He had to remind himself of this fact and suck up his wounded pride.

"Sorry, it's not your fault. I shouldn't be getting angry," Arthur added with another sigh. "They were the ones stupid enough to not have a proper back-up plan in place."

"Yeah, well, I was the one stubbornly pushing off-shore drilling," Alfred said, surprising Arthur with his willingness to admit error. Arthur smiled at Alfred's honesty, satisfied until Alfred added, "But yeah, you guys screwed up more."

Arthur punched Alfred's shoulder. "Don't push it, git. I'm trying to admit my faults over here. I don't need you rubbing them in my face," Arthur grumbled, tossing the tissue box back at Alfred. He felt very self-satisfied when he heard it connect with Alfred's face.

Alfred rubbed his nose, flinching. "Maybe if you'd stop throwing things at me, I'd stop mocking you," Alfred suggested.

"Would you quit whining? My gods, you're insufferable!" Arthur snapped, rubbing his face.

"So are you!" Alfred nearly yelled before groaning and pressing his palms to his eyelids. His lungs didn't like the extra exertion. For a long moment he waited for Arthur's next scathing comment, but for the millionth time that night was surprised when it never came.

"...Guess you took after me a little too much."

Alfred thought about this for a moment, and laughed. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Gods, they were all right," Arthur groaned, laughing as well. "We're stubborn idiots."

"You're more stubborn than me, old man."

Alfred yelped as Arthur whacked his arm again, harder this time. "You're more of an idiot, so I suppose it evens out."

"Hey! I ain't no idiot, y'hear?"

"Careful, your hick is showing," Arthur teased, snorting in amusement.

Alfred groaned. "That's a horrible joke," Alfred muttered, reaching up and shoving Arthur weakly. "Hey, I accept."

Arthur glanced down at Alfred, raising an eyebrow in question. He could see Alfred's blue eyes shining in the darkness and the details of his face a little better now that his eyes had adjusted. "Accept what?" Arthur asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Your apology. I accept it," Alfred explained with a small grin that made Arthur's face heat up. "So will you accept mine?"

"Consider it done, Alfred," Arthur replied softly, surprising himself by using Alfred's name for the first time in a long time. He pulled at the covers for a second, fidgeting. Arthur suddenly decided to do something that could potentially get him teased for the rest of his life. He hesitated for a long time, long enough for Alfred to sit up a little in expectation. Finally fed up, Arthur turned and, bracing one hand on Alfred's shoulder, kissed his forehead.

Well, wasn't Arthur full of surprises tonight? Alfred turned a few different shades of red before Arthur pulled away, turning his head to cough before returning to his seat on the edge of the bed. Both men were silent for a long time. Did Arthur Kirkland really just kiss Alfred F. Jone's forehead?

Why yes, he did, and Alfred, despite his embarrassment, could do nothing but whisper, "You missed."

"What are you mumbling back there?" Arthur grumbled under his breath, a palm over his own blushing face. He peered over his shoulder, a little irritated to see a wide grin on Alfred's face. Why was that git smiling?

"You. Missed." Alfred explained slowly, sitting up. The movement made him clench his teeth, his body sore from not moving much in so long. However it was all worth it to hear the quiet protests of the great Arthur Kirkland as Alfred pulled him by his necktie into a second kiss, this one planted firmly on his lips.

Later Arthur would look back and blush, remembering how Alfred's lips were far from perfect but that made the kiss all the more memorable. They were cracked from sickness, yet still smooth in places. Arthur could've sworn he felt a scar from where the skin had pulled apart and begun bleeding at one point. Arthur's gut clenched at the horrible taste, as if the oil from Alfred's gulf was on his lips. Above all, though they were warm. Rough and warm. Arthur would pretend it lasted a lifetime, even if it was only a few seconds.

It was only a few seconds because Arthur quickly pushed Alfred away. At that moment he was most certainly not focusing on how warm and rough Alfred's lips felt against his. No, at that moment, he was worried about a more pressing matter.

"My gods, man! Do you realize how unsanitary that is?" Arthur yelled, wiping his lips on his sleeve.

Alfred chuckled. "I'm not that sick. Besides, you're sick too, so there's no risk!"

"That doesn't make it any less disgust- ING!" Arthur sneezed out the last syllable, and in response was presented with a tissue to his face. He growled and snatched the whole box from Alfred, blowing his nose as the younger man flopped back down onto the bed. Alfred didn't argue, allowing Arthur to blow his nose in peace. At least, for a little while.

"You should sleep," Alfred told the European after his third tissue.

"Shouldn't I be saying that? You're the one with over one-hundred thousand gallons of oil being pumped into your gulf every day," Arthur commented.

"Ha! you admit it's my - hey, wait, when the hell did it go up to one-hundred thousand?"

"A day or two ago."

Alfred groaned, rubbing his face with one of his palms. "Great, just great. I'm getting sick of being stuck in bed. Heroes -"

Arthur rolled his eyes and lightly shoved Alfred's shoulder. "Right right, you're a hero, you're stronger than this, ect. Now move over so I can lay down, git. Matthew has my car until tomorrow."

Alfred laughed slightly and complied. The bed creaked a little as Arthur laid down, back facing Alfred. He pulled a pillow out from under Alfred's head to use, earning a quiet yelp of protest. After a moment or two of shuffling and a few muttered curses the silence settled in again, much more comfortable than the previous times. That didn't stop it from being broken, again. "Hey, Alfred," Arthur whispered after a moment.

"Yeah?" Alfred mumbled, straining to listen as Arthur grumbled something inaudible. "Sorry, what was that?"

"Happy Birthday."

Alfred smiled a little at Arthur's back, moving forward a little to throw an arm around Arthur's waist. "It's well-past midnight now. Y' missed it," Alfred began teasingly, listening to Arthur growl in annoyance for a moment before adding, "but thanks. It's the thought that counts." He chuckled a little as he felt Arthur fidget, something Alfred noticed he did when he was embarrassed.

"You're welcome," the British man added softly, smiling and shutting his eyes. He was ready for some well deserved rest.

Unfortunately, Alfred had one last thing to say. "Hey Arthur?"

"Mm?"

"Can you pass the tissues?"

"Get them yourself," Arthur mumbled lazily, too tired to even toss the box over his shoulder at the annoying git.

Alfred seemed to think about this for a moment before leaning across the smaller man, grinning when he yelped in weak protest. Arthur was sure Alfred would kill him at this rate. His heart was pounding harshly in his ribcage as Alfred was pressed up against his back, his hand fumbling in the dark for a minute for the tissue box. The younger nation let out a triumphant "Ah ha!" when his hand closed around the box. Just as an excuse to stay pressed against Arthur a moment longer, Alfred took his time in removing his glasses before setting them down safely on the table and rolling back into place clutching his prize.

Arthur scooted closer to the edge of the bed, blushing. His hand was pressed to his chest and his breathing was a little erratic. Damn him. "There, happy now?" Arthur coughed, burying his face in a pillow. "Now go to bed, damn it."

Alfred chuckled, blowing his nose. "Love you too, Arthur." Alfred chuckled at the British man as he snatched another pillow to place over his head to effectively block out Alfred's voice and hide his own blush.

There was oil in the Gulf. National outcry was going on in America, The Gulf economy was injured, and Brittan was facing the loss of one of their biggest companies. The world was watching and waiting to see what would happen. Things were looking bad for the economies of the United States and United Kingdom. Laying in bed with Alfred's warmth at his back, though, Arthur wasn't concerned...

...and for one night, neither was Alfred.

* * *

A/n: Well, I'm sad to say this is the last installment in this fanfiction. I really didn't expect it to be even this long - I'm not known for being able to finish long works, so I'm proud I managed to write this much in a week and edit it in a semi-decent amount of time. :3 If you guys enjoyed it the story then please review, point out any mistakes or inaccuracies, or just say how much you enjoyed it. If I ever come back and rewrite this years from now, I will happily take everyone's opinions into consideration. :D Thanks again to everyone who has already reviewed! I love each and every review, fav, or alert I've gotten. It means a lot when people like my work, so thank you so much!

Until next time!

~ Sadie


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